


The Repo Men

by bastardmice (itsahardyparty)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Apocalypse, COVID-19, Coronavirus, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, M/M, Plague, Quarantine, Roommates, Survival, Vigilantism, fucking up ppl who hoard hand sanitizer, social distancing, viral outbreak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23171857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsahardyparty/pseuds/bastardmice
Summary: Even the midst of an apocalyptic viral outbreak that seems to have turned the entire world on its head, people will still be people. There will always be those risking themselves to help others. Unfortunately, that also means that there will be people hoarding supplies and trying to sell them back at a profit. An unlikely group of newfound friends must band together to keep the safety--and more importantly, the sanity--of their world intact, even if that means knocking some heads on the way.
Relationships: Paul Landers/Christoph Schneider, Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Kudos: 8





	The Repo Men

**Author's Note:**

> I am from the USA. This pandemic and my government's lack of action is starting to scare me. This is my way of coping with it. 
> 
> This is 1992 Berlin, but in 2020 New York. I know that doesn't make sense. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till and Richard are partners in crime for a very lucrative business: targeting hoarders and price-gougers during a global pandemic. They take their loot and redistribute it to those in need. In a world where it seems that everyone is trying to profit off human suffering, they are happy to do a job where their only payment is simply human decency.

The streets of Berlin had been empty now for some time. It had been two months since the pandemic began, and although everyone had begun settling into whatever new version of normalcy had been thrust upon them, it was still unnerving. Till, of course, was glad to see the animals unharmed. Since the vast majority of the population practiced social distancing or was in active quarantine due to sick family, there was nobody on the streets anymore. Their places had been taken by birds, stray cats and dogs, the occasional horse...it was pleasant. 

Till himself was a great refrigerator of a man, and cast an impressive shadow over the empty sidewalk. He wore work jeans, and a t-shirt with suspenders. He had a baseball bat in his left hand, slung over his shoulder as he walked. His best friend and partner in crime, Richard, accompanied him, a few inches shorter and workout-stocky. He did not carry a bat, but he had a pair of brass knuckles in his back pocket, should things escalate and, god forbid, get messy. They didn't often--most people saw Till with that bat, towering over them, 250 pounds of solid muscle, and tripped over their own feet trying to give him whatever it was he was asking for. 

In reality, Till was about as big and cuddly as they came, and he liked to avoid smashing skulls if it wasn't completely necessary. But sometimes it was. Hoarders could not be tolerated during times like this.

The coronavirus outbreak had started overseas and eventually spread to Germany, and then the world had slowed to a halt. People began getting very sick, and then dropping off in greater and greater numbers. People lost grandparents, parents, siblings, children. Nobody was safe. The symptoms varied. The immuno-compromised and the elderly were most likely to die, but many more became severely ill and were hospitalized. Their lungs filled with fluid. Their hearts failed. It was a torturous, slow death, and it demanded that communities unite like never before to keep everyone safe and sound. Only with a group effort and careful, precise social isolation, would they be able to slow the spread of the illness. 

Of course, humans were just as animal as any other, and although they tended to think themselves above it, in their panic their long-forgotten instincts emerged. They stocked up on essentials, like soap and hand sanitizers, acetaminophen, and face masks, but there were always people with the means and the lack of compassion to take it too far. People went from town to town buying out every store they came across, stocking their excesses in storage units and garages, and running entire villages dry of toilet paper, paper towels, and pallets of Purell. Till and Richard aimed to lay waste to these people, repossess their hoarded loot, and redistribute them to those in need. They prioritized those who cared for the elderly or had small children, "essential" employees who still had to work and their families, or multi-generation families that often had young ones and grandparents under the same roof. 

The Volkswagen was parked down the street so that security cameras couldn't catch the plates, but they would load everything in the back and drive it into the surrounding villages, taking as many trips as they needed. Till usually stayed with their "victim." He was harder to argue with. 

"Do you want to knock this time, or should I?"

Till peered down at Richard, smiling a little. He loved to shake people down. "You can knock this time. I don't mind."

Richard nodded seriously and rapped sharply on the door, and Till adjusted his baseball bat and stood at attention behind him. 

There was a beat of silence. Richard balled up one fist and used it to bang roughly on the door.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming! Jeez..." The door swung open, and the homeowner narrowed his eyes. He glowered at Richard, and then his eyes traveled back to Till. "...who are you? What do you want?"

Till produced a normal sized 3x5-inch index card from his pocket, but it looked tiny in his gigantic bear-hand. "Are you...Bernard Wagner?"

"...yes, I am--why?"

"You are the man with all the soap and hand sanitizer."

"Oh, yes. And baby wipes, toilet paper, paper towels...is there something you're looking to buy?"

"No," Richard informed him. "But we are looking to take it all." 

The man sputtered in disbelief. "Excuse me? I have purchased all of this perfectly legally. There is no crime in what I'm doing--"

"I assure you, we are not concerned with legality," Till replied, shifting the bat off his shoulder and smacking it into his hand with emphasis. 

"Here is what will happen," Richard said firmly, puffing his chest out a little. "You are going to stay here while I get our van. If you move, my friend is going to take that bat to your skull. We will get these supplies either way." 

"I don't understand this--you're crazy! Why would you hurt me over some stupid cleaning supplies?" Wagner sniveled. It appeared that he was trying to come across as pitiable, but this display was honestly just pathetic. "This is just the way that the world works, you know--"

Till's face darkened immediately, and his grip on the bat tightened. "Maybe. But it doesn't have to be."

There is another, longer pause. Till's grip doesn't loosen, and Wagner is afraid he might snap the baseball bat like a mere matchstick. Richard seemed pleased by this reaction, and didn't even attempt to hide his smirk. "You just wait right here. I will pull in the van." 

Till pointed to Bernard with the bat, narrowing his eyes. "Show me your stockpile, or I am going to knock your teeth out." 

"Fine...it's in the garage," he sniffled, visibly shrinking away from Till. "I'll show you."

Bernard led Till through his home and out to the side door, which led into the garage. They'd done this little shakedown song-and-dance before, but these hoards always utterly enraged him. Pallets upon pallets of toilet paper, boxes of hand sanitizer, crates of baby wipes. Everyone bought more during times like this to prepare for the possibility that they wouldn't be able to go out for weeks at a time, but this was so much more than any family could feasibly consume. And to sell it back at a profit? To take advantage of society's most vulnerable members? That was despicable. 

He waved the bat at the garage door. "Open it. And stand back." 

As the door shuttered open, Richard backed the Volkswagen into the driveway. Bernard noticed with an uneasy feeling that the license plates were covered over with black cloth. It wasn't street legal, but they'd be removed as the two of them left the property. This was purely so that Bernard wouldn't know what to tell police. 

"I trust he's behaved," Richard said, raising his eyebrows at Till as he climbed out of the van. "Shall we load up?" 

"This is going to take a few trips," Richard informed him, smirking self-righteously. "Hope it isn't a terrible imposition."

It was. But they didn't care. 

It took four trips. The van was packed to the gills every time, and Till sat with supplies on his lap and at his feet in order to fit everything in. The first three trips were taken to their shared apartment to drop everything off, but the fourth trip was taken straight into the village. Richard parked the van in the eerily empty town square and cut the engine. Till opened the glove box and pulled out two N95 respirators and two pairs of latex gloves. Since they were going to be dealing with sick people and those that were exposed to them, it was better to take reasonable precautions. 

Once the protective gear had been donned, Till opened the door and pulled out the supplies sitting at his feet. Richard popped open his own door and hefted a pack of toilet paper over each shoulder, glancing around at all the quiet homes. Nobody was on the street, even on such a beautiful spring afternoon. This was the time of the year where children used to burst out the front door and play ball in the street, or ride their bicycles down to the park. People would walk their dogs and chat on their way to the cafe, and young women could be seen sitting at outdoor tables, giggling over cups of tea. 

But, the chairs in all the restaurants in town were overturned, and the restaurants were boarded up. The bicycles were all inside with the children. The wind swirled eddies in the street, catching the scattered fallen leaves in a fleeting dance. It was terribly, terribly silent.

But, slowly, people began to gather at the windows, and to peek out into the street. Till and Richard had come by before, and always came back just as soon as they had the means to. It was easy to tell that these people were wanting for supplies the poachers had left them without.

Till adjusted his mask and grabbed a garbage bag from the van's door pocket, stuffing it with rolls of toilet paper and bottles of soap for easy distribution. The two of them would go door-to-door and hand them out, checking in on the members of their community all the while. 

A haggard, puffy-eyed middle aged woman cracked the door when Richard knocked, his own bag perched over his shoulder. 

"Hello," Richard ventured from behind his mask, swinging his bag off his shoulder and hoisting it up. "We've gone on another raid. Is there anything you need? We have toilet paper and soap--"

"Do--do you have any shampoo?" she asked softly, thin fingers curling anxiously around the door. "I can't find it anywhere--we need toilet paper and soap too, of course, and--thank you, so much, but--"

"I understand," Richard assured her, smiling knowingly. Everyone had a Thing. Whatever it was that helped them cope with the state of the world. Many people still went out in a full face of makeup, despite there being nobody to really impress. Till, along with the essentials, always made sure they had sweets. (Or supplies for doughnuts, so that he could bother Richard to bake some.) Richard had his hair care products--dye, gel, mousse...so he, of all people, could certainly see why this was a necessity. 

"Till!" he called over his shoulder. "Any shampoo?"

"Let me check!" He set his bag on the sidewalk and threw open the trunk, leaning in and rifling around. They had really packed everything in tightly; it was hard to sort through everything with any kind of efficiency. During this last trip, they had thrown in more loose things, things that weren't taped together in bulk, like packs of Clorox wipes and body wash. So shampoo may have been somewhere in there. 

The woman and Richard watched, amused, as Till crawled into the trunk to rifle around, and disappeared among the stacks of supplies. 

"What's your name?" he asked, raising his eyebrows down at her. "Do you have family with you?"

"It's Anna," she replied, still watching Till, a faint smile on her lips. "Yes, I live with my husband, our three children, and my husband's parents."

"Wow," he murmured. "Is anybody in your home sick?"

"Not yet, thank God." 

"Well, that's good. I promise, we will get you more than enough supplies to take care of everyone."

"We have medicine," Anna assured him quickly. "Plenty, actually. I had a healthy stock of it even before all this happened. But the soap--"

"I found shampoo!" Till thundered, rattling his way out of the van and jogging over to the two of them. Proudly, he presented her with a large purple bottle of ladies' shampoo that was citrus-scented. "Is this okay?"

"Oh, yes," she whispered, gently taking the bottle and holding it in both hands. "Oh, yes. Thank you so much. How can I possibly repay you boys?"

"Don't be silly." Till shook his head. "We do not take payment." 

"Please--take something." Anna began to dig around in her pockets, hunting for money, and Richard grabbed her wrists gently. 

"We do not want money. These supplies were stolen from your community. All we are doing is giving them back."

This was a common occurrence. Many people tried to push money or food into their hands, but it was never necessary, and they almost always refused. When they did accept some form of "repayment", it was usually in the form of water bottles or sandwiches. Just one of these runs took hours, and left the two of them incredibly tired. And then they went home, woke up at dawn, loaded the van up with more of the supplies they'd taken, and started all over again. Theoretically, they _could_ have taken breaks between runs of a day or so. But their main goal was always to redistribute essentials as quickly as they could. It was usually a few weeks before they managed to hunt down another hoarder anyway--they could use that time to rest. 

The entire village was serviced, and the two boys were there until after the sun went down. It wasn't just a drop-off--they knocked on every door and checked on every family. In the afternoon, they went back to their flat to repack the van, and then drove back to the village to continue distributing. Anything they couldn't give to individual families, they took to the church. 

"Do you boys need somewhere to stay the night?" the old pastor asked them when the final pack of gloves had been brought to the sacristy. "You've done a very good thing. It is the least we could do."

"No, thank you." Richard smiled a little, reaching over to rub Till's back. He was getting tired, and they had to be up early in the morning. "We have a place about a half hour from here. But that's very kind of you."

"I'll pray for your safe journey home, then. Could I send you home with anything from the rectory? People have brought us food, and we can't possibly eat it all. We have fruit, crackers, soup, doughnuts--"

Just as Richard opened his mouth to graciously deflect, Till's eyes lit up. "Doughnuts?"

Till fell asleep in the car on the way home, a box of doughnuts open in his lap. Three were missing. Powdered sugar clung to his lips and chin, and to his shirt where he'd wiped his hands. His mouth was open, and his chest rumbled with quiet snores. 

After Richard pulled the Volkswagen into a parking spot, he unclipped his seatbelt and leaned in, smiling at Till's peaceful, relaxed face. He carefully closed the doughnut box and lifted it off Till's lap, setting it on the dashboard instead. "Till," he whispered, propping one arm up on the passenger headrest so he could lightly stroke his hair. "Till, wake up. We're home."

"Mm?" His eyes fluttered open blearily, and he squinted up at Richard. "What?"

"We're home. You fell asleep."

"Oh." Till rubbed his eye with one large fist and yawned, glancing around lethargically. "We did lots today."

"We did," Richard agreed. "And we have lots more to do tomorrow. So..."

"I get it, I get it. Get up and go to bed so I can wake up before the sun," he grumbled, and Richard couldn't help but snicker. He was always so grouchy when his naps got interrupted. "Give me my doughnuts."

Richard's lips twitched with barely-restrained mirth. "Are you sure you want to eat all that sugar so close to bedtime?"

"Shut up!" 

Richard giggled and handed him the box, then climbed out of the van. "You are such an incredible grump. Come on, up."

Till stuffed Doughnut #4 in his mouth and laboriously dragged himself out of the Volkswagen, shutting the door behind him. "Good night."

"We load the van at 6 am, Till. Be awake." 

"Good _night,_ Scholle."

"Good night, Doughnut."


End file.
